


Adam Parrish eats the rich

by Whoops_heck



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: ? - Freeform, Angst, Character Study, Fluff, Gay, Grammar it’s less likely then you think, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Poetry, Poverty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-03-20 19:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18998839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoops_heck/pseuds/Whoops_heck
Summary: Eat the rich or starve to death. Adam Parrish had never really had a choice to begin with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rest In Peace punctuation

My dad is probably a sadist. I can’t really see any other reason to beat your kid half to death.

Maybe he’s got a dark and troubled past and can’t help his aggresive behavior. Maybe his heads never been screwed in quite right. Maybe he ran out of words and decided fists were the next best thing.

Whatever it is, is a load of bullshit. 

There’s no excuse for doing what he’s done.

No amount of frustration at your blue collar job can excuse the aggression that man shows towards his family. 

But I guess it’s not just his family he’s aggresive towards. Robert Parrish hates everyone and everything that seems or acts like it’s better than him.

That includes me. That includes the school I go to. And that includes the rich pricks who walk around this town like they own it. With enough money in their trust funds that if they wanted to, they probably could own it. 

What those rich assholes don’t understand is that I’m not one of them. They understand in a basic way sure but they will never know just how different I am from them.

I’m poor. And it really sucks that I live in a world where that’s the truth. And it also sucks that there isn’t much I can do to change my way of life. But what sucks most of all is that these people don’t seem to understand that last bit. About my inability to change it. 

They offer suggestions like it’s their profession or as if I wrote to them in a magazine asking for whatever tid bits of magic advice they had left.

People suggest that I get a job. 

I have three. 

People suggest I spend less. 

I have gone without deodorant for a week because it’s too much of a splurge.

People suggest all kinds of shit and I have had enough. I’m not going to snap at anybody or rant about the inevitability of my own poverty or this cycle, this system, that has decided for me that I’m gonna be poor. I won’t do that. I’ll do it to you I guess but not to anyone real. You can’t get mad at me. I’m poor remember.

I am the impoverished youth. Give me a quarter. Round up your total. Give a can of food or a polite smile. 

I am the starving, I am what your tax dollars go to. I am pot holes in the street. I am broken streetlights. I am popped tires and holes in the bottom of your shoes.

I am smart too. I am poor and I am smart. That’s all I am, that’s all I’m allowed to be. 

If I’m dumb then I’m just like my dad.

If I’m confident then I’ve forgotten where I’ve come from.

If I’m funny I’m a punk.

If I’m a slacker then I’m a waste of space.

If I’m anything other than perfect, 

I’m useless.

And maybe I’m overreacting. Or being dramatic. But god does it feel real and true. I am young and starving and smart. And that’s it. 

Ronan calls me beautiful. And he says it casually. Without really saying it. But it’s there if you listen or if you don’t buy his bullshit. I like it when he calls me that but I have to act like I don’t. Because I’m humble too. I forgot to add that to the list. 

He’ll look at me for a long while some times. I pretend not to notice or I don’t. Sometimes I stare back at him. 

Crack a smile.

Or not.

I think Ronan’s exceptional. He’s trouble. But he’s everything. Ronan is rich and confident and powerful and sharp. He is late to every class but he gets me to work on time. He doesn’t make fun of me for real. He does to act tough but it’s not real and I know that, because I’m smart. 

He doesn’t pity me. He wishes I weren’t poor but I do too so I can’t blame him. He wishes my dad were dead but so do I. He wants a lot for me. I want It too. 

Gansey wants to save me.

I want to get out. 

It’s different. Not by a lot. But by enough. 

Some kids are cruel. And some use that as an excuse to be outright evil. When Ronan’s skipping and Ganseys sick or not with me sometimes I get pushed around. Mostly to the ground, sometimes into walls or lockers. I don’t talk about it. And I don’t think they know. They’ve got bigger fish to fry with me. 

A bruise on my wrist is nothing compared to the stuff they say. It’s just words so it doesn’t matter. Well as long as the words aren’t said around Gansey or Ronan because then they would matter. 

Trailer trash. 

That’s my favorite. Because it’s true. I live in a trailer and my family is made up of sacks of rotting garbage. I really am trailer trash. And they don’t even know how accurate it is. They just think they’re being clever, calling me poorer than I actually am. 

Some people assume I’m a gun loving cousin fucker. But I’m not. I’m as democratic as it comes and I know those boys have fathers just begging for lower taxes and more power. I ignore it. Because I’m smart and I know it’ll only make them mad.

I really like Ronan. And it’s gross and weird and icky. Because I’ve never allowed myself to actually like someone. Sure people are objectively attractive. I’ve always known. I’ve always been aware. And I was aware when Ronan came into the room that, yes, this was an attractive person. 

But god is Ronan attractive.

And he’s nice too. He’s mean but he’s nice. And I really like him for it. 

When I’m around Ronan I don’t have to be smart. I can do dumb things and it’s okay. I don’t have to be poor because being a dumb teenager doing dumb teenager things is usually free. I don’t have to be humble because he likes that I’m smart and good at things. I don’t have to be starving because excitement fills my belly and he doesn’t make me feel bad for eating the last slice. I still feel bad but he tells me it’s fine. Around Ronan I don’t have to be anything but myself.

I am poor.

I am smart.

I am humble.

But Ronan doesn’t care. 

Because all I am to him, 

is Adam

And Adam is exceptional.


	2. Chapter 2

About the whole, “Ronan likes me for me”...

He does, don’t get me wrong, but he’s also not happy when I don’t take care of myself. Which I guess makes sense.

I’ve spent so long without a real understanding of what self care looked like. 

I thought I’d been doing it, in a way I was.

Deciding between having lunch or dinner any given day.

Riding a bike everywhere to save on gas money. 

Working yourself into exhaustion because you never know when you’ll need the extra cash.

All these things and concepts made sense. They really did. They made sense for the 16 years I spent in Robert Parrish’s household. They were for self preservation and frankly at the time that was my number one priority.

Sometimes I forget that I’m out of there.

Occasionally that’ll happen literally. Panic attacks, nightmares, flashbacks, that sort of thing. But more often than not something will happen and my mindset will just flip.

One second I’m laughing with my friends eating some pizza carelessly.

The next I’m wondering why I’m wasting my time with these people and why I’m eating so much pizza in one sitting when the box could last me the week. Why am I not working or studying. Why am I wasting my time.

Why am I wasting time.

It takes a bit for the mindset to be switched back. Takes the gentle hands of someone I love. The words of affirmation in my ear. Cold air. Time.

 

Maybe a few minutes. Telling myself over and over: I’m at Nino’s. I’m going to college next year. I have savings. I’m okay. I can pull myself out of this just focus. Just focus on now. It sometimes works.

 

Maybe it’s an hour. Sitting in the car while Ronan drives. A car rumbling or purring beneath me. The cold air of open windows and long empty highways. Low deep bass of a song I can’t understand. That sometimes works too.

 

But maybe it’s more complicated this time. Because it’s been four days and I can’t snap out of it. I can still function. I am still okay. I just have to be working or studying. Eating isn’t a priority. My priority is making sure I’m prepared for the future. Making sure I never have to end up beating my accidents in a trailer I’ll probably die in at 56. 

Drinking myself into a sinkhole. 

I punched a wall.

It’s the first time I’ve ever punched anything just because I wanted to.

Because I’d felt compelled to. For some reason something inside me, when stuck in this stupid funk thought “let’s make other things hurt the same way I’m hurting”.

I felt like Him and sobbed for a half an hour into the floorboards about it. I was alone with a sprained wrist and a withering sense of self. 

I can’t seem to snap myself out of it. 

Nothings working. 

Nothing helping.

I can’t get myself out.

My friends can’t get me out.

I’m stuck spinning over and over a record of my trauma. Ingrained habits in my head digging their claws back into me after lurking in the shadows for months. 

I can’t get myself out this time.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be out again.

Maybe I’m destined to be Adam Parrish. The boy with potential who threw it away for a life just like his dads. I’m just like my dad. I am just like my 

Dad

Wouldn’t he be proud

**Author's Note:**

> Wowza what was that thing you just read/I jut wrote? Who knows anymore am I right


End file.
